My Dear, My Queen, My Lady, My Love
by rissaleigh49
Summary: A year after the war is over, Sansa is still haunted by the demons of her past. Luckily her lord husband is there to wake her up. OR Tyrion comforts Sansa after a particularly nasty nightmare. Fluff ensues.


Hello all! This is my first GOT fic, because I'm still angry about season 8. However, this is a standalone fic that could theoretically take place post season 8 if Sansa and Tyrion got married very soon after the finale. I left it ambiguous so that it could fill every Sanrion shipper's fluff desire without contradicting any canon or head canons. But I've talked for long enough. Please enjoy some fluff, and as always please a review!

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Sansa looked around, unsure of where she was, confused because she had no memory of what she was doing before this. She was in the throne room of the Red Keep, wearing the same light blue gown she had been the day Joffrey ordered her stripped and beaten. She inhaled sharply at the unpleasant memory. Even after all these years, she still felt the same cold fear run down her spine.

"Well hello my lady," a voice she had hoped she would never hear again whispered in her ear. Every muscle in her body tensed, recoiling from his hot breath on her neck. She wished to run, but felt as if her feet were stuck to the floor beneath her.

Joffrey stalked her like a lion stalking its prey. One time, she had called him _her_ lion, excited to bear his children. Now the comparison made her sick to her stomach.

"Do you remember what I told you the day I showed you your father's head?" he asked her with that teasing lilt to his voice. She had no answer for him, instead choosing to stare obstinately ahead of her, right at the seat of the iron throne.

It didn't matter though. Joffrey needed no invitation to continue. "I told you that Mother said a king should never hit his lady," he said without looking at her, as if he was speaking more to the room at large than to her specifically. He stalked right up to her, mere inches from her face before he continued. "But Mother isn't here,"

Sansa ducked involuntarily, preparing for the blow that was sure to come. Except it didn't. When she opened her eyes, she was in her chambers at Winterfell, in the white gown she wore when she married Ramsay Bolton. Her throat went very dry, as she was not nearly as confused this time.

"Did you miss me wife?"

Sansa didn't turn to face him, instead sprinting for the dresser to grab something, anything, that she could use to defend herself with.

Ramsay was too quick for her, grabbing the skirt of her gown and pulling her to the ground. Laughing that sinister laugh of his, he began tearing at her dress, more roughly than he did on their wedding night. This time, Sansa did not lie still. She still cried, but she also screamed and flailed, doing everything she could to get away from him. She felt him grab her shoulders and shake them, hearing him say her name over and over again.

"Sansa, sansa, sansa…." he said wickedly, making her fight harder, tears streaming down her face.

"Sansa!" Sansa opened her eyes, suddenly coming back to the real world. She could see that their fire was still going, and a small candle was lit on the table at the other side of the bed from her. She wasn't on her chamber floor pinned beneath Ramsay Bolton any longer. No, the man who had called her name held no malice in his voice, rather it was laced with concern, and perhaps even a bit of fear.

"Sansa, it's okay. You're safe, I won't let anything happen to you," Tyrion said gently, releasing her shoulders to wipe tears from her cheeks. "I promise,"

Sansa waited for her breathing to slow a bit before sitting up beside her husband. She looked over at him with a watery smile. "I'm sorry my dear. Did I hit you?"

"No, unfortunately the northern lords will not have the pleasure of seeing me with a black eye this time," he joked, and Sansa let out a breathless giggle. Tyrion let out a sigh he did not realize he was holding. Getting her to laugh after one of her nightmares meant that they might be able to get back to sleep. Most nights he was unsuccessful, which meant his poor wife would be exhausted for days. He was glad that tonight, at least,it seemed to be working, especially since tonight's nightmare seemed to be particularly nasty. "Do you wish to speak about it?"

Sansa shook her head no, wiping her face with both her hands. "Was I screaming again?"

Tyrion frowned, not wanting to answer her. He knew she felt extremely guilty about her nightmares, no matter how much he insisted they weren't her fault. That was his Sansa - his beautiful, compassionate, caring wife, actively upset that she disturbed his slumber regardless of the fact that he was glad to wake for her, if it meant he could ease her burden, even the slightest bit.

On the other hand, if he didn't tell her, she would just find out from the servants in the morning, and then she would be angry with him. Despite how much he loved sparring with his wife, he knew it was not wise at this current point.

Tyrion sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. "Yes, my lady wife. You were in fact screaming again," Sansa looked down in embarrassment, but Tyrion cut her off before she could apologize. "But that is not what woke me up, it only increased my concern. Well, that, and your tears,"

Sansa looked up in disbelief, cocking one eyebrow. "You were already awake? Why?"

Now it was Tyrion's turn to look down sheepishly. Even in the dim candlelight, she could see the flush of red fill his cheeks beneath his thick beard. "Well, um…. I-I, uh…"

Sansa rolled her eyes. Even now, a year after the war was won and she had confessed her love for him, and married him again, in front of the old gods and the new, he still feared her ridicule. She understood, of course, she still had her demons after all, but it irked her all the same. "I'm not going to make fun of you, my lord husband," she said softly, taking his hand.

"I was…. Speaking to our child,"

Sansa gasped, a hand coming to cover her mouth as a few errant tears rolled down her cheek. That was probably the sweetest thing she had ever heard him admit to doing, and she silently wondered if this was the first time he had done that.

"Have I upset you my love?" he asked, taking her face in his hands. Sansa shook her head no, kissing him softly.

"No my love," she whispered. "You have just made me the happiest woman in the North, possibly in all of Westeros,"

"And you, my queen, have made me the happiest man in all the world," Tyrion responded with a smirk, kissing her forehead. "Let us lie down. You need your rest,"

Sansa was tempted to argue with him, not because he lacked any logic. She knew he was right, she just loved to irk him sometimes. At present, she decided that it could wait until morning.

Tyrion reached over and doused the candle on his side of the bed before nestling under the blankets and fires beside her. He started to stroke her hair, as he often did before bed, knowing it calmed her. She closed her eyes, but still she could not sleep. She realized, despite her earlier distraction, she was still unsettled by her dream.

"Tyrion?"

"Hm?"

"Will you hold me?"

Tyrion's hand stilled, while he slid over a bit to lay flat on his back, gathering his sweet, wonderful, and newly pregnant wife against his chest. "Sleep my love. I will keep you safe. Both of you, I promise,"

Sansa relaxed, drifting off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep in the arms of her beloved husband.


End file.
